Star Wars Infinities :: Episode I :: A New Fate
by Tyler Marcoz
Summary: Imperial Knight Captain and Princess of the Galactic Empire Leia Skywalker chases Confederate agents in an attempt to recover stolen plans. Her brothers, Knight Archivist Luke and Apprentice Jinn, are sent on a very different mission by their father, one to discover the truth behind the machinations of the Emperor's Sith apprentice, Darth Raze... AU


**STAR WARS**

**Infinite Stars**

_Episode I: A New Fate_

**It is a period of civil war. Confederate spaceships, striking from strongholds in the outer rim, have won their first major victory in years against the Galactic Empire.**

**During the battle, Confederate commandos, led by the daring Rahm Kota, managed to steal secret plans to the Empire's ultimate weapon, the DEATH STAR, an armored space station with enough power to destroy entire fleets.**

**Pursued by the Empire's elite knights, Prince Organa races to the Outer Rim aboard a swift starship, guardian of the stolen plans that could turn the tide of the war and bring about the end of the Empire.**

**Space, Arkanis Sector, Tatoo System, aboard Imperial I-class Star Destroyer _"Exactor"_**

Crimson bolts illuminated the blackness of space, sparking off the failing shields of a small corvette. The blockade runner had rotated its guns back to return fire, a futile gesture of defiance that caused the dark figure on the command deck of the Exactor to grin in amusement. As the personal vessel of the armored warrior, themselves the personal enforcer of the Emperor's will, the Exactor had seen much action, particularly in the last few months. Kota's Militia was proving to be more a threat than expected, and it was readily apparent that they had managed to receive support from the Confederacy of Independent Systems, to the point that distinguishing them was essentially impossible.

The Confederacy. The thought of it caused the figure to fill with anger, an emotion they then turned and harnessed, lest it take them over. What gall they had, what great hubris that they had not put down their pitiful resistance to the New Order. The Emperor had offered them reconciliation, and they had denied him. A number of members, mostly former members of the late Count Dooku's Dark Acolytes, of the Confederacy of Independent Systems had chosen to take the Independent part quite literally, breaking off into small zones where they ruled as warlords. The Empire had managed to suppress a number, while others in outlying worlds were mostly left to their own devices, for now.

However, the greater portion of the forces instead remained a cohesive thorn in opposition to the newly formed Galactic Empire. The Emperor was working off plans that were already long in place, and the reorganization of the military combined with the increase in military spending was doing its job well, but only so much could be done. The Emperor was being diplomatic with the senate, attempting to keep more worlds from joining the Confederacy. Battles had gone cold, lines were drawn, and a sort of peace had fallen into place.

Nineteen years. Nineteen years since the New Order had begun, and the Galactic Empire replaced the aged and bloated Republic. The senate remained, after a fashion, though the Emperor was swift to put through any motion he felt necessary and simply ignore the ones he didn't. For the most part, however, he had chosen to let the senate remain to their own devices, sparing certain measures of defense or justice. The senate seemed to know its place, particularly given their new Grand Vizier and her relation to the Emperor. By and large, she was running the political machine now, while the Emperor focused his talents towards preserving the order he had forged.

It was by the Emperor's word that the Jedi Order had been replaced, most of their number either perishing following the execution of Order 66 before it was rescinded, or fleeing to join with various rebellious efforts; many even joined the Confederacy they had once fought. To replace them came the Imperial Knights, of which the armored figure was not only part of, but a person of high rank.

Most of the order was only recently coming of age and achieving status as a true Knight; the vast majority were younglings taken during the fall of the Jedi Temple, or other force-sensitives collected from worlds loyal to the Empire. A small group of Jedi Knights swore loyalty to the Emperor, becoming the first Masters of the Order. The great irony was their position gave them great authority, and no secrecy; they were watched closely, even as they were used to train the next generation.

The figure watched as the vessel, a supposed diplomatic vessel of Aldaaranian origin, put up its last futile resistance. They watched as the captain gave the order to capture them with the tractor beam, and then the various members of the crew respond with practices precision. Many positions were still crewed by clones of various ages, but a surprising number were neither clones nor even human; a rodian was assisting in operating the tractor beam controls, a twi'lek one of the beings monitoring the communication station, and the Imperial Marines standing guard at the entrance to the bridge was a hulking talz and a blue-skinned pantoran, both from the Pantora system.

One of the Emperor's first acts had been to revolutionize the Grand Army of the Republic. With the loss of the Jedi and the need to expand the military beyond the means of simple cloning, he had opened the floodgates, taking volunteers from all sorts. The Imperial Army and Navy had swollen to the point of being nearly entirely non-clone. The remaining clone forces were placed into the elite Stormtrooper Corp, which remained under the direct operational command of the Emperor, while the Army and Navy were shared jointly with the senate.

The Imperial Knights, when they came of age, had taken positions of command as well, much like the figure had. Soon, stormtroopers from the 501st Legion, the legendary "Emperor's Fist," would board this traitorous vessel and spearhead the recovery of the stolen plans that the Emperor so desired.

The vessel was caught now. However, just as the figure began turning with intent on joining the boarding party down in the hanger bay they halted. Feeling the presence before they even entered system, they figure mouthed one word, immense distaste flowing across their face.

"Sir, vessel entering system, broadcasting friendly identification signal. Vessel is confirmed as a Victory I-class Star Destroyer, broadcasting name is..."

"The _Shadow_," the armored figure finished with disgust. Why was he here?

"Yes, that is right, sir," the sensor operator finished, and then faded back into the background of the vessel. The captain, a rough but skilled man by the name of Solo, was openly annoyed by the development. The armored figure sighed and resumed their turn.

"Do not be rude," the figure said to Captain Solo their heavy cloak settling back down from the turn. "Be wary, though. I do not know why Lord Starkiller has chosen to arrive, but I have little patience to deal with him or his master today."

"I'll be on my best behavior," he said with a charming smile, causing the armored figure to sigh once more. He waited too long before adding 'my lady' at the end. The figure wondered why she put up with the scoundrel, skill or not. Still, she could not argue that he was very good at what he did. The magic she'd seen him pull off with vessels as small as a Lambda-class shuttle or as large as the Imperial I-class Star Destroyer that the _Exactor _was. She had yet to witness him behind the controls of a TIE fighter, but she'd no reason to think he wouldn't be just the same there. Even if he was a bit of a scruffy scoundrel.

The doors closed, and the armored woman disappeared into the bowels of the vessel; she had duties to attend to, after all.

**Coruscant, Supreme Chancellor's Office**

_Nineteen years prior..._

"Commander Appo," Vader said, greeting the holographic appearance of his personal commander with a tired voice. The clone commander took a moment to take in General Skywalker's appearance. The clone had seen Skywalker charge a gun line, best odds well beyond his means, and face down foes that were far in excess of anything that Appo had ever dreamed. He had fought, bled, and won alongside the Jedi Knight for nearly half a decade now, but not once had he ever seen the man quite so worn. At first, Appo feared for the man, as if he had imagined his voice, so near to death he seemed to be. His robes were torn and scorched, his face was marked, and his arm, the cybernetic one, seemed to have been severed once more.

"This is a Priority Order. In accordance with the Contingency Orders for the Grand Army of the Republic: Order Initiation, Orders 1 Through 150, I have lawfully executed Order 65, removing Supreme Chancellor Palpatine from office and am assuming command of the Grand Army of the Republic," the general said. Although his face was hidden behind a helmet, Appo was very much aware of the implications of what he'd just heard; mere hours before, the Supreme Chancellor had broadcast orders that transferred military command of the entire Grand Army of the Republic to General Skywalker, now operating under the title of Darth Vader. Such a title was meaningless to the clone, but that was unimportant.

What Appo also knew was that General Skywalker, or Vader (he supposed,) likely would never have known about Order 65 had the clone not mentioned it to him mere hours earlier, shortly after the assault on the Jedi Temple. Appo was unsure what had possessed him to mention it. Something had simply come over him, and he seemed to have volunteered the information without hesitation or thought.

Behind them the temple was burning. Skywalker, or Vader, stood and looked away from it, staring back at the office of the Chancellor. He'd left, leaving Appo to finish the mission at the temple; round up the remaining Jedi, keep them stunned, and keep them secure while he conversed with the Chancellor.

"Confirm reception of last message, Commander," Anakin said darkly. Appo shook himself.

"Message confirmed, verified. Should I transfer the order other commands, sir?"

"Proceed, Commander Appo. Amend last order given, as well; Jedi are to be detained if possible. That will be all, Commander," Vader said, and then turned the comm off. Appo faded into nothing, and once more the General, now in command of the Grand Army of the Republic, sat alone with the rapidly cooling body of his old friend and very brief Sith Master.

Vader's eyes drifted back to Palpatine, the blade wound still evident on his chest. Vader felt it somewhat poetic, perhaps fitting, that the wound had come from that particular lightsaber. His eyes turned from the body of Palpatine, or Darth Sidious he supposed, and onto the lightsaber that was sitting there on the late Chancellor's desk.

Silver alloy body, black shrouding and grips, with accents of gold-colored electrum. Master Windu was a swordsman without peer, and his unique saber had reflect that fact. Now Master Windu was a smear on one of the countless Coruscanti underlevels, and his blade was here, with the man who had defeated him.

Anakin stared at it for a moment, lifted it with the force, and then, in a flash he dropped it and turned away.

The eyes. He could still see the eyes.

"Oh my word..."

The blade was ignited before Anakin had much time to think, purple glow casting odd shadows across the room. The one-armed general turned to face this newcomer, appraising the finely dressed man for the briefest of moments before he deactivated the blade, arm falling to his side.

"I know you," Vader said, slowly, his mind a whir. The man, who had entered Palpatine's office only to find quite a grisly scene. The bodies of Jedi Masters was strewn across the floor, clear casualties of some fight, while that of Palpatine had been unceremoniously slain and dumped mere feet from where Anakin now stood, behind the desk of the late Chancellor. The man, seemingly the same age as Palpatine, had a look about him, something that made Anakin instantly distrust him. However, as the words seemed to fly to him, he realized that, while he may not trust him, he could use him.

"Sate Pestage. You were Palpatine's adviser. One of them, at least"

"Y-yes, yes I was. He sent for me, not scant few hours ago, I-"

"Was expecting to find him here, I suspect, yes. Palpatine has been found unfit, and has been removed from office," Vader continued, returning to his seat. He had nothing to fear from this one, he could tell. Not now, at least. "He sent orders, I know. He had things done. He could have called anyone after this day, but he sends for you. Why is that?"

To his credit, Sate hesitated for the briefest of moments, perhaps imperceptible to someone who was not trained in the ways of the Force, but to Vader it was plain as day. He hesitated, be it out of respect, loyalty, or fear could not be said, but the fact remained that he had. However, it had only been for that moment.

"I know where the bodies are buried, Master Skywalker."

"And you know the plans, don't you. He would have had them in place. He has been planning this, that much is certain. He started this," Vader said, turning to look out the window, staring into the distance at the smoking temple. That was not the 'this' he was referring to, not completely, and they both knew it. It was larger than that. It was the war.

"He was planning to be Emperor, Master Skywalker," Pestage said. Vader found that entirely fitting for one such as Sidious. Emperor. He would have done it too. He had done so much, engineered everything just right, but had never seen it coming. He'd never seen it coming.

The eyes returned to him, and Vader stood up in a rush.

"I assume all necessary arrangements are in place, then?" he inquired, sliding the late Master Windu's saber onto his belt; it was not an ideal situation, but his own blade was lost, as was Palpatine's, and he had taken Windu's as a trophy. It would suffice, for now. "Call a special session, and a crew to collect the bodies."

Pestage moved without a word. So fast, it took Anakin by surprise. Something told Vader that Palpatine was not the first master he'd had, and that Pestage did not rule out that Vader might not be his last either. Vader looked to find a speeder; he needed to find Padmé, to tell her what had happened. He had to make her understand. He would save her, now. He had the power, the power of the entire Republic at his hands, and he would make it happen.

Anakin had been wrong, once. He had told her he would be the most powerful Jedi ever, powerful enough to stop people from dying. It was not to be. The Jedi did not believe in such things, in such powers as that. And so, he would be a Jedi no more. He was Sith, now, and he would change the galaxy, into something new, something better. And in this new galaxy, no more would his loved ones die. Never again.

Never.

**Space, Arkanis Sector, Tatoo System, aboard Victory I-class Star Destroyer _"Shadow"_**

A smaller and faster vessel, the bridge of the Shadow was very much like that that of the larger Imperial I-class, both designed roughly in the same period for the same buyer, though different reasons. While the Imperial Navy had only a handful of Imperial I-class star destroyers, and even fewer of the newer Imperial II-class vessel had been named and put into service, there were significantly more Victory I-class vessels, though only a short run of the deep-space operations variant, the Victory II.

The Victory I-class was smaller, lighter armed, and carried less troops or equipment, but it was faster and more maneuverable, and could respond with greater speed. It was for that reason that Lady Raze had granted her acolyte the _Shadow _instead of petitioning for a larger vessel, though not before having it refit with faster engines and a few other surprises.

Starkiller was never supposed to engage in heavy combat that would require a larger vessel; any location he went to would either be a surgical strike or a reinforcement of an already hot zone, and thus speed was more necessary than overt power. They carried only a fourth the number of troops, but the _Shadow's_ compliment was one of best the Empire had to offer: the 1001st Legion, also known as the Knighthunters. Formed specifically by order of Lady Raze and placed under Starkiller's command, the Knighthunters were trained and equipped to fight Jedi, and they weren't the only secrets the _Shadow _possessed.

"My Lord, they have hailed us, but-"

"She has not lowered herself to speak to me," growled Starkiller, arms folded in authoritarian displeasure. The man, perhaps less physically imposing than most expected, wore an outfit very much like his counterpart on the larger _Exactor, _the red armor marking him as a member of the Imperial Knights, which he was, nominally. However, few would mistake him for anyone else. The helmet he wore, an odd fusion that evoked elements of the armors of the Ubese, Mandalorians, and even Echani Sun Guard in design, an imposing face that morphed the man's voice into an imposing and inhuman growl.

"So it would seem," the captain replied. The young female human seemed cut from the perfect Imperial cloth, standing with her shined shoes and pressed uniform. Starkiller's head whipped around, causing a number of lesser officers to flinch and scoff as she simply stood there.

"Sir," she added a long moment later, and the smirked. Silence reigned on the bridge for a moment, followed by a low chuckle that erupted into a full laugh. The crew relaxed and returned their full attentions to the jobs at hand. Lord Starkiller and Captain Eclipse had an odd attitude, and while he could be ruthless and show dangerous mood swings, the Captain seemed to be able to read him unnaturally well. Still, they constantly wondered when she'd make a wrong step. Their lord had been ruthless with her predecessor, after all, or so they said.

"Refuse the hail," he said, whirling about. Starkiller's cloak fluttered as he pivoted, heading for the lift; he would handle this personally, as Lady Raze instructed. He gave one last command before punching the lift button for the flight deck.

"Prepare the _Rogue _for launch_._"

**Space, Arkanis Sector, Tatoo System, aboard CR90 corvette **_**"Sundered Heart"**_

The advance into the the vessel above the desert planet might have been handled primarily by the Stormtroopers of the 501st Legion. Already they were getting into positions, having deployed via one of several boarding craft. A welding arm already was cutting through the heavy plated hull, and one of several stormtrooper engineers moved forward to place the breaching charge against the weakened armor.

The flash was supposed to blind the defenders, giving the first few troopers through the entrance a few seconds to enter and find cover, hopefully taking out a few defenders as they moved. Theoretically, at least. In practice, the act of entering first was nearly always the worse lot any trooper could draw. The 501st was good; the best, they liked to think. Being the best did not stop a blaster bolt from killing you, though.

So they had the flash. Even with the flash, however, the first man through nearly always died; simple matter of odds. Drawing point duty was bad luck, but no one complained; it was just a fact of life. Someone had to go first, and better you than one of your brothers. At least, that's what they had said until the new commander of the 501st had come.

The charge detonated, sending smoke and debris into the hall. The flash did blind some of the defenders, driving them to flinch for just that second. Some of the others, though, did not. Battle Droids id not flinch. The IG-97 was Holowan Mechanicals take on the battle droid concept, and had grown quite popular in the war-like time that the galaxy was engulfed in. It was perhaps somewhat surprising that a supposed diplomatic vessel might have them aboard.

Bolts pierced through the smoke, just as the first attacker leaped through the hole. One of the droids had aimed quite well, and placed a blaster bolt right into the chest of the target. The bolt, however, found itself reflected, taking off the offending droid's head as the Lady Commander of the _Exactor _charged through, silver lightsaber blazing.

Two other lightsaber bearing figures followed her, armored much the same in the black and red as their leader. None of the three bore the cloaks traditional to their armor; in the close quarters fighting they were expecting a cloak would only be a hindrance. Stormtroopers of the 501st piled in after them, their own blasters coming up to snap shots off.

Several troopers moved in bearing flat plane shield generators, using them as cover as they assaulted. The three Imperial Knights provided the cover until they could, moving to deflect and intercept offending blaster shots where they could. It was not perfect; several troopers went down, but a measure more of the enemy, droid and organic alike, went down in turn. The troopers and droids were no match for the elite 501st, and certainly not for three fully trained Imperial Knights.

The firefight at the airlock turned quickly into a rout as the troopers pressed forward, shield bearing troopers forming the vanguard force. Combat tactics had become quite refined over the course of the Empire. The Emperor had, after all, once fought on the front lines. It was rumored that if not for the joint words of the Vizier-Empress and Imperial Viceroy that he likely would be out there still.

Leading right behind the loose shield wall, the Lady Commander and two other knights barely bothered to fight any further. They pushed on through the corridors. At the entrance to the bridge, the Lady Commander halted the procession and ordered them to wait. She flicked a finger to activate the panel on the wall.

Raymus Antilles laid crumpled on the floor. It was hard to tell what had killed him: the crushed neck or the imaplement evidenced by the lightsaber wound on his chest. Lord Starkiller looked up, lightsaber still blazing as he did.

"Lady Skywalker," he said, voice distorting, "And Ladies Jade and Brie, a pleasure. The Captain Antilles and I were having a talk about the stolen plans, but he was most unhelpful."

Lady Brie seemed stoic, while Lady Jade's face turned into a snarl. For Leia Amidala Skywalker, a Knight-Captain of the Imperial Knights and Imperial Princess to boot, the expression was resignation. She should have expected this from Raze's pet. More shocking was that she had not even felt him come aboard.

Leia regarded Starkiller coldly for a split moment and then deactivated her lightsaber. A small glance to her companions led to them following suit. Starkiller waited only slightly before following suit.

"Don't you have some other errands to run for Lady Raze without interfearing with our work," Mara Jade snapped. Starkiller grinned beneath his helmet.

"Don't you have a prince to be pining over." The quip turned the young knight red, but caused a small grin on Brie's face. Starkiller continued before Mara could retort. "Lady Skywalker, if you'll please join me for a moment, I do have some information to share with you. I felt it improper to not tell you personally, though you were unavalible on your vessel."

Leia stared at him, face hardening.

"Fine then, _Galen," _she said spitefully, "Let's talk."

**Coruscant, Corusca sector, Imperial Palace**

Anakin looked out over the city, sun setting in the distance and engulfing the buildings in fiery outlines. The imagery of the inferno brought back memories of nineteen years prior, but the forty-one year old no longer cringed the way he might have. He stood tall, arms folded across his chest as he let the memories of his action, the anger washing over him. Anger at many things; at Palpatine, the Jedi... at himself.

He took that anger, that power, and channeled it. Deeper, into the pit of himself, the very core of his being. He let it flow, but not control; harnessing it, directing it. He had been a mad beast once, slaughtering without thought. No longer. He had learned. The power instead revitalized him, fueling the secrets he'd begun to unlock in his body. Anakin was forty-one years old, yet felt exactly like he had that very night in office of his brief and late Sith master.

It was a great irony that, in death, Palpatine had taught Anakin more than if the Sith lord had survived. The Emperor was not completely self-taught; a combination of Sate Pesage and other acolytes that came out of the woodwork supplied information that led Anakin to a number of artifact caches. He recovered Palpatine's copy of the Book of the Sith, as well as his incomplete notes for his various books, such as the never-completed Book of Anger.

He also found his dark, hidden chambers in the formerly titled Chancellor Palpatine Surgical Reconstruction Center, since renamed the Empress Amidala Surgical Reconstruction Center. The laboratories were a repository of knowledge, knowledge that Skywalker put his natural talent to work on deciphering. His alchemical talents were impressive; his control of flesh was nearly as complete as his mastery of the mechanical from his youth.

Anakin turned from the window, walking hard. He drove himself through the spires of the palace, seeking his private office. There had been no summons, no message; there would be, eventually, But not yet. His skills are precognition were a fine warning. Emperor Skywalker had become renowned for not only his punctuality, but his foresight.

On a micro scale that was largely attributed to his aforementioned, if minor, ability as a seer. On the macro, he attributed it primarily to one person.

"Padmé."

The Empress turned. Anakin's hard, scarred face twisted into a rare smile. His wife and love was nearly forty-seven years old, yet to the Emperor she remained as beautiful as the angel he'd seen so many years ago. Even in his imperious state, Anakin never dressed extravagantly, rather preferring simple, if dignified, clothing and armor, the less ceremonial the better. Padmé, on the other hand, had made it one of her noted features, or at least had it thrust upon her. As Empress, she'd the means and ceremonial reason to continue it. As Grand Vizier, she had the practical cause, much the same as it had been as a Queen or Senator.

Her hair was elaborately made up, perhaps less dynamic than the old styles she'd worn as Nubian royalty. From her dress, Anakin could tell she'd arrived from the Senate only shortly before. The immaculate dress of black shimmersilk hugged her form, dazzling with an array of twinkling, impossibly cut gems that made her into a walking night sky. Sashes on her hips joined one around her neck, both trailing behind her with equal luster. He knew she'd secreted a hold-out blaster, but even his inquiring eye found it hard to see where; she'd become quite good at her job as Vizier. Her second job, at least.

Her first job was keeping him in line

"Anakin," she said, crossing the gap between them in a second. She embraced him lovingly, kissing lightly and then holding him close. Anakin squashed certain doubts in his mind, unwilling to face them, and embraced her back. His immaculately carved golden bionic held her with even more delicateness than his remaining organic arm.

She spoke the way had come to, short, direct. Nineteen years at the forefront of not only Imperial politics but running an empire and, of course, motherhood had led to that.

"Sariss needs to be censored," she began, "The so-called 'Prophetess' has stirred up storm in the Outer Rim; we only just took those areas back from one of Dooku's scum, and already she's started another war."

Her words captured everything about her in microcosm; passionate, but collected. Calm, but firm. She spoke in unity; 'we' have taken the areas. Nineteen years ago she'd been reluctant, even dispossessed about their relationship, if only for awhile. She discovered all he'd done and reacted emotionally, as would be expected. However, the machine was already set in motion and it could not be stopped.

He'd declared her the Grand Vizier, a fact that had galled Pesage. His own position of Imperial Viceroy was essentially co-equal, yet it had been created simply to mollify the silently furious man. Nearly two decades later, Sate Pesage ran the day to day business of the empire, and Padmé ran the legal and senate. Both sought Anakin's ear. Padmé got it easier.

Anakin had told her it wasn't a bribe. That was partially true. Padmé told him she still loved him the same. That was partially true too. Two decades later, Padmé sometimes wondered who she was so long ago. She looked the same, almost unnaturally so, yet so different. She did love Anakin still, even if she was was once terrified of what he might become.

Then she became it too.

"Please, Ani," she said, quietly, a flash of the old self. He pressed his face into her shoulder, and she knew he'd take care of it.

A cough drew their attentions. Standing at the door, clad in a dark crimson raiment, bordering on black, that covered little of her flesh and revealed a patchwork of white tattooed lines on orange-red skin a matched pair of lightsabers hung from her belt, a long blade and a shorter shoto to accompany it. She bore the Akul-tooth headdress of her youth on her head, but she was a child no longer. Tall, proud, and powerful, Emperor Skywalkers long-time 'apprentice' had arrived as if right on cue.

Anakin found himself pulled in two directions; Anakin Skywalker seemed to fight perpetually with Darth Vader, or he had. Torn between two sides: the Emperor and the Sith, his wife and his apprentice. The world was not black and white, it was more nuanced, a galaxy in greyscale. For some time he'd struck an odd balance between the two names, the two people. Every so often one seemed to take over from the other.

Ahsoka Tano did not have that problem. Indeed, by and large, Ahsoka Tano had ceased to exist. The simple truth was there was no more Ahsoka Tano, the girl who had been Jedi. Now there was only only Darth Raze, the Sith Lady and Hand of the Emperor, the name feared by all levels of Imperial society. She answered only to the Emperor, nothing more and nothing less.

She was a better Sith than Anakin was, he knew. He saw it in her; her world had been shattered left to crumble away so a new world could take its place.

Silence reigned. Padmé sighed, releasing Anakin and nodding. She should have known this would be the answer; it was the only answer, really. The Empress spun, an image of dancing stars, and headed out from the office without another word. Lady Raze waited till she'd left, and then knelt before the Emperor. Her head lowered, exposing her vital neck in a sign of submission and respect.

Certainly a better apprentice than he'd ever been.

"What is thy bidding, my master?"

Darth Vader stared down at his apprentice. The fingers flexed on his golden arm, a lightsaber with similar electrum-plating hanging at his side. The lightsaber was old, very much like he was, or at least how he felt.

"Sariss has become a liability."

"I understand, my master," she said, softly, contritely. Sariss was her project, as so many where. If Padmé was the law, and Pesage was the order, then Raze was the and; everthing that slipped between the cracks, every darkness Vader needed was her domain. Sariss was a project that needed terminated; the Church of Passion both a success and a failure. Rather, her great success was the failure; Sariss was a darkly ambitious sort. In the least, she provided a proof-of-concept. Now her little movement needed ended before it ignited yet another threat the Empire needed to quash; they'd enough already.

Speaking of which...

"Where is Starkiller?" Vader asked. Raze's agents were dreadfully close to violating the tenets of the Rule of Two, but their usefulness outweighed Vader's fairly shallowly held philosophical concerns.

"He has tracked down the plans."

"Good," Vader replied quickly, perhaps too quickly, "Tarkin was most distraught."

"Tarkin is an ambitious fool, master; the tighter he tries to hold the galaxy, the more of it that will slip from his fingers," she replied, looking up at him, ever so slightly, "If you want to keep something, you must let it go."

The wave of force sent her flipping back and pressed her against the wall with a dull thud. She did not make a sound.

"No," Vader said, coldly. He regarded his apprentice, pressing her slightly before releasing her to the ground. She landed on all fours, silent as cat's-feet. "If you want to keep something, you hold just tight enough to make them think you aren't holding at all."

**Tython, Deep Core, Tython System, Ruins of Stav Kesh**

Luke looked out over the mountains, sun rising and bathing the snow-capped peaks in golden radiance. The image reminded him of Coruscant, sunlight dancing over the palace. Even after so long away from home, the prince could still see the image of imperial glory in his head. Still, he found that it was good to be away from the galaxy at large; he'd spent his entire life amongst the stars, it was nice to get away, with boots on the ground once more. It let him center himself more than he ever could in the bustle of the galaxy at large.

Master Jerec Marr told him the introspection was good; the chief Archivist for the Imperial Knights had taken him as a pupil during his squire days, and had shown him the quiet places of the galaxy. Luke became fascinated by it, the stories that history told. Together, they had dug up many wonders and records that now populated the halls of the library in the central Knight Citadel in Coruscant.

Luke would always be the Imperial Prince, but he was known as a seeker of knowledge now, as well. At 19, he'd made a name for himself as something other than just the son of the Emperor. That had made him happy. Though he was now a fully realized Imperial Knight, he still worked with his old master quite often, including on Tython. The ruins he now stood in had been excavated by a team he was part of. He'd returned not to find knowledge, however, but rather to pass it on.

He spun, heavy cold-weather clothing fluttering as he did. The lightsaber at his hilt ignited in an instant, silver glow clashing with purple. Luke grinned, one arm folded behind him.

"Attacking an unaware opponent. Not very sporting, is it?"

"Third Treatise of Pai Cho Kan, Je'daii Temple Master," Jinn said, ducking and attempting to sweep the legs of his opponent with his blade as he did. Luke leaped up, clinging against the ceiling with the force, sun backlighting him against the vista. He smiled, as any master would when his student showed such enthusiasm.

Jinn vaulted back, purple blade still glowing. The design was similar, but not identical to that of the Imperial Knight's proper; the youngest of the Skywalker children was nothing if not an individualist.

"I recognize the text," Luke said, dropping from his inverted perch, "But Pai Cho Kan was not highly regarded by his contemporaries. His techniques relied heavily on aggression and anger in combat, which can cause you to lose sight of the bigger picture.

"But he was also undefeated in single combat," Jinn said, preparing to spring into a lunging strike. His intent was cut off, however, when pair of blades swept across his feet, causing them to lock up. He tumbled down just as Bocas'eca brought the twin silver down on top of the young prince, stopping just over his chest.

"Prince, never good to assume a fight is single combat," the twi'lek said with a chuckle, blades disigniting. Jinn groaned and tried to shake his legs; the twin stun effects had him down for the count thought, and he slumped back down. Jinn's own blade deactivated. Luke smiled, snapping off his own as well.

"It is good to see you, Master Bocas'eca, I wasn't aware you'd be here so soon," Luke said, bowing slightly, the twi'lek knight simply waved him off.

"Master Marr said you'd found something that needed my talents, and so I came, yes," Boc said quickly; Luke had gotten used to the rapid-fire way of speaking that the excitable twi'lek was known for. "Still using the silver blade of the knight over the purple of a royal, yes."

The elder prince smiled, "I am an Imperial Knight and an Archivist before I am a prince. Now, if you will, I discovered a chamber in the temple with some fascinating artifacts I'd like you to have a look at."

Jinn was left sprawled on the floor of the ancient je'daii dojo, cold-wind blowing over his prone form. He groaned with boredom as his brother and Master Boc's voices faded away. Bested again. What a drag. He really hoped he could use his legs again soon, the ground was scragging cold.

**Space, Arkanis Sector, Tatoo System, aboard Imperial I-class Star Destroyer _"Exactor"_**

"Something doesn't feel right," Leia said, watching on a viewscreen as the _Shadow _pull away and head towards an exit vector to the system. The black-hulled Star Destroyer seemed to inspire fear in all that knew of it, even the Imperial Princess; no one was above the Emperor's justice. Lady Raze _was _Imperial Justice, and by extension, her chosen agents were as well.

Leia had met many of Lady Raze's 'assets': the Inquisitorious, the Shadow Guard, her legion of Knighthunters, but none held a greater place of fear in the hearts of the galaxy than the Starkiller, Galen Marek. The rumors surrounding him were many, weaving impossible myth with terrible reality. Leia had heard he'd torn an Providence-class carrier/destroyer from the sky to use as a spear against a Confederate droid control ship.

An Imperial Knight knew the power of the Force, but even Leia hadn't believed it until she'd seen the battlefield recordings of Starkiller doing exactly what had been said of him. The Imperial Knight had many feelings towards Galen, but chief amongst them was fear. And even though she reacted to fear with stubbornness and snark it remained fear.

So, it was with relief that the The _Sundered Heart _was with it, manned by a skeleton crew from Starkiller's own. They had made a deal; Starkiller would cede his eminent rights as an agent of Lady Raze to seize the prisoners in exchange for rights to the vessel, droids, and other equipment aboard it. He'd stated he had a mission of the false flag sort that required it. He hadn't said anything more, and none of the three Imperial Knights stationed on the _Exactor _had asked for anything further.

"What, that Starkiller decided it was a good idea to kill the best sources of information we had in storming the bridge?"

Leia turned to find that Mara and Brie had joined her on the observation deck. She hadn't expected any responses, evident in her delay for a response.

"No, not that," the princess said, shaking her head, "That he then put up so light of a fight in granting us the remaining crew as prisoners. He mentioned the stolen plans but seemed more concerned about the ship itself than the information. He even let us scan the databanks; they weren't on that ship."

"He knows something we don't." Shira Brie folded her arms across her chest, unhappy with the train of thought. "Something that requires an intact vessel to utilize."

She turned to look at the two vessels just before they entered hyperspace on a peculiar vector. "Besides, if that was a consular ship, where was the ambassador?"

Leia halted, then swore. She clicked a button on her neck, activating the comlink built into the armor.

"Captain, were there any lifepods jettisoned from the _Sundered Heart?_"

The response was immediate; Solo was scruffy, but he was also good at what he did. If... informal.

"Sure thing," he said, and she could almost see the grin on his face, and hear the 'sweetheart' that he wanted to add to the end of it. "No life signs, so we just let it go; seemed like a waste of power and space to tractor it in, why?"

Leia swore again. As if reading the princess' mind, Jade turned and headed for the lift. Brie looked at her with confusion, the reality escaping her until Leia spoke.

"There is something aboard that pod, Shira,' she said, turning to follow Jade down to the hanger bays; they needed to begin deploying troopers right away. "And we need to find out what it was... and why Starkiller didn't seem to care."

**Raxus, Tion Hegemony, Raxus System, Confederate ****Parliament Building**

In the wake of the rise of the Galactic Empire, the porous battle-lines of the Clone Wars gave way to the far more drawn lines of the Imperial-Confederate War, the Core to Expansion region forming the heart of the Empire, with both sides courting and warring over the Mid and Outer Rims. The latter of those now formed the largest section of the Confederacy, and Raxus had once again become the capital of the Confederacy of Independent Systems.

A pair of figures stood in one of the private chambers of the Confederate Parliament. Both were veterans of both wars, abet in different ways. Voe Atell was a senator of the Parliament that had lobbied hard and directly for official recognition for the Confederacy from the Galactic Republic. Her battlefield was political. Now, so many years after, she'd ascended to the position of Speaker of the Parliament, and was one of the foremost members of the Confederacy following the demise of Count Dooku.

The two looked out over a holographic map of the galaxy, divided into sections. The blue core of the Empire surrounded, in places, by the red Confederacy. Other sections of the Outer Rim were marked in a variety of colors, independent domains by choice or through the actions of splinter groups and ambitious warlords; several former Confederate leaders had carved out domains, and a number of Jedi had brought a return to old titles, rising as Jedi Lords and 'protectors' of distant and endangered planets.

"Two decades of war," Voe said, hands placed firmly on the edge of the holo-projector. She stared out over the map, wondering if the twenty-years the CIS had managed was a feat at all. She'd been a representative of the Corporate Alliance for a long time, though her rise to power had allowed her to cut many ties or realign others. Such was politics. Even now, she saw the power of the businesses as a necessity; which was better, the oppressive facism of the Empire or the impersonal interests of corporations?

"And are we any closer to peace?" Voe sighed and shook her head. She turned to the other member, someone who had fought a very different war.

"Should we concern ourselves with impossibilities," Koffi Arana said, arms folded across his chest. The dark-skinned Jedi Master, and head of the CIS-aligned Sovereign Order of Jedi Knights. The Order had risen from the ashes of the Jedi order, one of the many successor groups claiming at least some heritage to it that had formed following Order 66, before it was stymied.

The group, though composed of many who were once so dedicated to the Republic, had become staunch allies to the Confederacy; Koffi Arana was not only a Jedi Master, but a leader on his original homeworld of Turkana. Many other Jedi in the order had established similar ties, to either their original homeworlds or adopted new ones. In many ways, they were simply a more organized version of the the isolated Jedi Lords.

"I find it ironic that you would sound so much like Kota," Voe quipped darkly, "Given your relationship."

Koffi grunted. Another 'survivor,' Rahm Kota, made his feelings very clear on the Order. He hated them, stomaching them only because of his far greater hate for the Empire. He was not alone. Several other Jedi aligned themselves with some planet or another, not members of the Order and barely stomaching their presence, let along affording them any legitimacy. Koffi found it easier and easier to accept every day.

"As long as General Kota continues to fight, I don't care what he thinks about me; we can resolve our differences once the Empire has been finished."

"You say Empire but I hear Sith."

The Jedi scowled, "Are they different?"

Speaker Atell regarded the Jedi Master for a long moment. She was no expert on history, but she saw that the new Jedi Order shared much with Count Dooku's less savory acolytes. They were less overt, and their doctrines seemed very much what she'd heard of the Jedi of old. Perhaps very old, though; they were far more ruthless now. They often had families, and seemed very concerned with political matters.

Some of these where concessions to attract wayward Jedi to join, while others were simply new realities given their loathing for the Republic and its Imperial successor. Thus, she found herself in the utterly incomprehensible state of hating the Empire _less _than someone. She was tired. The Jedi, on the other hand, seemed to have embraced a very un-Jedi-like emotion: Anger.

And so, it was with some trepidation that she replied. She turned, facing the Jedi and leveling her gaze.

"Are _you _different."

She stared at him, and he stared right back. Seconds seemed very long for a moment, and Voe rightfully, if only for a moment, feared for her life. But Koffi was no fool, and though the anger washed over him, he'd spent nineteen years learning to handle that.

"Where is the Head of State?" he asked suddenly. To her credit, the green-skinned speaker didn't even miss a beat.

"He's gone to meet with the agents."

The Jedi sucked in breath. "Alone?"

"He knows the world better than any others we would send."

"And the risk is immeasurably greater, as well," he quickly replied, spinning on his heels.

"Where are you going."

He paused at the door, glancing back at the map. His eyes locked on one sector in particular, a remote sector that had never the less become a hotbed of conflict due to its resources and, ironically, sparce population. It was that way even in this period of so-called 'cold war.' The Geonosian Droid Foundries, a corridor of the Corellian Run, and a backwater world where their esteemed leader, the Head of State of the entire Confederacy of Independent Systems, had been born and raised. The very same world that, in a twist of dark fate, the Emperor had.

"To prepare the Order," he said sharply, "There are things at work you can't even begin to understand."

He was gone before she could demand any explanation.

**Halowan, Fakir Sector, Halowan System, Halowan Laboratories Facility B9**

Although the Confederacy of Independent Systems had come to field a large number of organic forces, they still made heavy use of droids in their armed forces. These took up logistics as well as military roles, and their successes had led to a wider acceptance of the use of battle droids. Several companies attempted to exploit this, and produced various droids for various markets.

Halowan Mechanicals, the business subsidiary of Halowan Laboratories, released their IG-97, one of many IG-series designs. Essentially a mass-production model of the IG-100 MagnaGuard, the IG-97 combined an independent, if basic and focused, heuristic processor with the portability and cost-efficiency of the classic Baktoid Combat Automata B-series battle droids. The IG-97 joined the higher grade IG-86 Sentinel droid as one of the most successful products from the company.

It was popular, even in Imperial circles, particularly in the private protection forces of various Moffs and planetary officials. The Corporate Sector Authority had vast numbers of IG-series droids, IG-97s particularly. Even Naboo was said to have several regiments of chromium plated droids for their palace defense forces. Holowan had come into their own. Officially, they did not supply any droids to the Confederacy. Unofficially...

The barren, gray-surfaced planet of Halowan stretched out beneath the craft as it descended. It looked more like a weathered moon than a world, a planet of sparse population and industrial desert. The YU-410 light freighter slipped through the atmosphere towards one of the many facilities that dotted the landscape. Externally, neither facility nor the vessel were special; neither had a name, only number designations. For both it was what was inside that counted.

For several reasons, Halowan Laboratories tended to support the Confederacy. Although the corporate forces that had driven the Separatist movement remained, they were muted following the rise of the Empire and its often heavy handed tactics. This was not, however, the case with Halowan. In truth, the decision to align was more because of the new leader of Halowan Laboratories and the planet that went with it.

Halowan Laboratories Facility B9 was not unique. It was built of per-fabricated parts, like many facilities on the planet, with a small collection of rectangular building linked by walkways, both covered and not, and a far larger facility built below the ground; the area under the facility was a hollowed cavern, where more per-fabricated structures were arranged, the pit then covered with a metal cap and some of the displaced earth, and it boasted only one landing pad of any note.

The platform, an exposed, circular pad on a set of low stilts, connected to the facility proper by a small metal walkway. Easily three times the size of the light freighter that was coming down on it, it had several automated drone systems on standby; they were intended to unload any raw materials that would be transported to various lifts directly into the facility, while passengers would disembark normally, if without fanfare; the facility was a research one, not a tourist destination.

For-Atesee stood at the entrance to the pad's walkway, awaiting his guests. The spire-headed droid resembled the skeletal form of the Muun that had designed it, much in the same way the B1 resembled the form of a deceased and desiccated Neimoidian. Even the IG-97, which had abandoned the large tubular head for a more humanoid one was simply because the human-led design team who modified the original Phlut Design Systems plans. The intent, in all of these, was to instill a sense of dread in enemies.

Thus, the fact that it was 4-8C, President and CEO of Halowan Laboratories (and thus, the _de facto_ ruler of the planet) who felt the creeping sense of dread was a sort of subtle irony. Four droids that shared his appearance, if not his level of sentience, were arrayed around him, two on either side. They were arrayed in weapons, but in a passive stance. 4-8C had no desire to project antagonism on his guest, but he wasn't going to be unprepared either.

The IG-88 series was an upgrade of the popular IG-86 Sentinel droid, and only four of the very powerful assassin droids existed. 4-8C wanted to keep it that way; the IG-88s were something like his personal attendants and enforcers. Efor-Emeff had taken IG-72 when he'd left to join with one of the rebel movements loosely affiliated with the Confederacy. Data from IG-72 and the IG-88s would make for useful upgrades to Halowan's IG-86 programming, however, but that would take some time.

Particularly given the preeminence of a very different development program that had consumed all of his time.

The freighter touched down, and 4-8C watched as the ramp under its bellow lowered. The clank of metallic claws on metal followed the figures that exited it. The droid president noted that several droids had already begun to unload material from the cargo bays; cases of ore in various shades and crystaline growths, odd chemical mixtures and materials the droid couldn't even identify. The three figures exiting the vessel were as diverse and colorful as the cargo.

Two of the figures, on either flank of their leader, were IG-110 lightsaber droids. Advancements of the old IG-100 MagnaGuard, the IG-110 was based on the EG-series Jedi Hunter; they were lightsaber wielding droids intended to just as their name implied: fight and kill Jedi. The irony was that the 'Jedi' now fought for the Confederacy, often alongside the droids they once were so adept at killing. The IG-110s, thus, were repurposed to fight against the Imperial Knights, a task that they did as well as could be expected.

It wasn't good enough, and 4-8C wanted more. He had no great loathing for the Imperial Knights, or the Empire, or anything, really. 4-8C had been activated to improve the company, which he had after his hostile takeover. His product lines were revamped and improved, but one sore spot stuck out to him. The IG-110 performed, but not well enough. After searching for a solution for many years, he'd found it.

Or found her, rather. The figure that led the trio was a blue-skinned and red-eyed female, cloaked in dark robes that moved only just enough every few steps to reveal the modified lower droid chassis that served as her bottom half. The legs, not greatly unlike that of the long-dead General Grievous, ended in wicked talons, the source of the sharp clicking. Her face was twisted into a simple, but somewhat savage grin, a pair of white tattooed lines running down her face from her eyes.

"Lady Tann, it is a pleasure," 4-8C began, clasping his hand together and bowing slightly. The blue-skinned cyborg waited a moment before returning the bow.

"The pleasure is all mine, president, I've brought all I said I would. I expect that the facility is prepared for my arrival?"

The droid would have smiled if he could; she was in an uncharacteristically good mood, it seemed. He was so pleased, in fact, that he completely missed how oddly the two droids flanking her seemed to move; not dangerously, but... curiously. Literally so: they seemed engrossed with everything they saw, no matter how mundane. The IG-110s were painted black, yet one sported pink markings, the other a bright orange, with dark cloaks not unlike that of their master.

Their distant cousins, the IG-88s, regarded them with confusion. 4-8C didn't regard them at all.

"Yes, of course, I personally oversaw the preparations, just to your specifications," he said, turning and offering the way, down the catwalk. He began down it, expecting she'd follow.

"Though I must express some confusion on some of the apparatus you sent instructions for."

"In due time, president," she said, following along. Her two escorts fell in behind, along with two of the IG-88s. The other two remained back, guarding the entrance. They entered, heading for a lift that would take them into the deeper sections.

"I take it your have brought the Cortosis, as requested? I saw other materials as well," the droid queried as they stepped into the lift, "That has to do with the various devices and parts you asked for?"

"Yes, president. The cortosis is one part of the plan. I promised that I would provide you a way to beat Imperial Knights, Jedi, or the like, and I will do just that. The materials I must keep something of a secret."

She paused, glancing over to the droid and flashing a sinister grin, "Trade secrets."

For-Atesee bristled slightly, though his mechanical body didn't show it. The implications were galling. Despite himself, he spoke his mind.

"You ask for much, Lady Tann."

"And promise much more."

That silenced the droid president. The rest of the ride was consumed with speaking of particulars, of capabilities and the needs. Sev'rance'tann, known mostly as Lady Tann to the galaxy at large, kept much of her plans on the low. Her claim of 'trade secrets' was a necessity as much as anything. Though he was as 'smart' as any sentient, 4-8C was a droid and thus lacked a certain sort of understanding when it came to the Chiss cyborgs' greatest asset: the Force.

One of her attendants, the orange-marked Vexxtal, had one of her sources of learning on that asset hidden away. Recovered from the planet Lisal, the Sith holocron had been an invaluable resource after the death of her teacher, Count Dooku. And, for that matter, after her own presumed death. If not for the actions of one of her associates that would have been a death sentence indeed. The resources in the holocron had allowed her to enhance the apparatus that helped her move and survive, as well as her attendants.

Like strategy before it, alchemy came naturally. She was now taking it to the next level. 4-8C would not understand the implications of mixing lignan ore with cortosis to form a new alloy, nor the esoteric treatments she would apply to the droids, nor the power of mechu-deru that would infuse them with the dark side. It would have no way of understanding the crystal growths she installed into the bodies of the droids.

Hopefully, it would understand that it would remain a valuable partner as long as its usefulness persisted, but not a moment longer. It would learn that, or it would perish.

**Panatha, Pacanth Reach, Panatha System, Supreme Cathedral Ship of the Pius Dea Renewal**

The night was falling over the city, casting dancing lights across the building. The clear panes of the colossal vessel hovering over center of the city, what had been the governors palace not a few months ago, caused the display, a fiery display of splendor and beauty. The Cathedral Ship, a truly colossal vessel whose ability to enter the atmosphere was nothing short of miraculous, had taken up the spot following the coming of the Prophetess of Vahl, Sariss.

Sariss had arrived years prior, unannounced and unknown. Proclaiming herself as the new forerunner of a great and mighty goddess and her chosen people, she was mocked at first until she demonstrated powers remarkable. The Force had a way of turning laughter into fear and wonder. A cult began to form around her, with Sariss revealing successive layers of 'truth' to her growing followers. She claimed that the goddess was a being of power and energy, and whose powers she had command over. Her blazing red hair was the sign of the goddesses chosen people.

The young and impressionable flocked to her. They gave everything to her movement, radicalizing easily. One, a young man named Yun, became legendary when he slew his father, a mineral baron, and seized the mining company, handing it over to Sariss and her growing church. Suddenly flush with wealth and materials, it quickly became apparent that the Prophetess had designs of total domination.

The governor dispatched troops to remove this obvious threat, only to find that the Prophetess had surrounded herself with an array of eager convert-warriors. Before long, the entire world was engulfed, and the governor found himself gradually pushed back. Before long, he was dead as well. A purge began, as Sariss commanded them to cast off the unworthy prior to the coming of the goddesses' chosen. Millions died in a pogrom for the strangest of reasons, guided only by the unknown visions of the red-haired priestess.

And then, just as she said they would, they came...

Thousands of years ago, a religious movement named Pius Dea had ceased control of the heart of the galaxy, even going so far as to take control of the Republic itself. Bloody crusades followed as they followed out the doctrine, until the Jedi and other forces engineered a virus that sent the massive Cathedral Ships into blind hyperspace jumps before burning out their systems. The intent was to strand the vast quantity of the followers in deep space. Most of them were.

Most is not all.

Upon an unknown homeworld, one Cathedral Ship made berth. A fertile but volatile world in the Deep Core, the lost population of human descendants of early colonization became quickly integrated and converted by the superior technology of the religious cast-offs. It had taken them generations, but eventually the descendants of those few returned to the galaxy, their beliefs and religion warped over time and circumstance and native beliefs. Pius Dea had become worship of Vahl, the people the Vahla.

Decadent and dangerous, the entire population, by breeding and planetary curiosities, became seeped in the dark side. They discovered methods of using the force, relics of ancient empires long past that allowed them to drive ships through space with passion and anger. Forceful as a whole, they posed a threat to the stability of the galaxy, and were purged by the Jedi Knight for their adherence to the dark side. Once again losing their way, they became cast-offs, unknowing of their own homeworld, without a past. Until she had come...

Sariss had claimed to be one of them, a Vahla who claimed to have visions of the path their goddess wished them to take. She was amazingly powerful in the Dark Side, with visions of the utmost clarity. Her hair was brilliant red, her Vahla agility undeniable. That both were the product of dark side alchemy was unknown, as was her true history as the daughter of one of the Prophets of the Dark Side, and tasked with turning the Vahla into a useful tool by Darth Raze.

It worked wonderfully. Her visions allowed them to recover several lost vessels, including several that had found other unknown worlds. Populations were culled or integrated. The young Prophetess, daughter of Vahl, declared that the goddess had plans for her chosen people, before they could return to their lost home.

Panatha was the first planet they arrived upon, and it was not the last; it was never supposed to be a stop. What the children of Vahl did not know was that Sariss revival and push of the Pius Dea was her attempting to create a base from which she could establish her own power to rival her former masters in the eyes of the Empire... or perhaps to replace her masters entirely. She shifted the historical humanocentrism to a more humanoid preference, allowing near-humans and even some very humanoid alien races into the fold, abet as lower class believers.

With the wealth of Panatha, they had spread, but the core of the religion had become the first world, and Sariss set herself up as the lord of the planet, with Yun as an apprentice of sorts, and began to work the Sith teachings of the Prophets of the Dark Side into the doctrine of the Ember of Vahl and the Church of Pius Dea. She introduced lightsabers as a symbol and weapon, the concept of training an apprentice, and mixed it with the religious devotion to the goddess Vahl, the Pius Dea herself.

It was a rousing success, and in her corner of the Outer Rim Sariss had managed to carve out an impressive domain of fanatical followers. Her actions distrupted trade and threatened sections of the galaxy already in turmoil from the still smoldering Imperial-Confederate War. Theoretically, Panatha was Imperial territory, but equally theoretically, the new 'regime' hadn't actually cut ties with the Empire.

The spread of the Church of Pius Dea and its very secular rule were something that the Empire hadn't faced yet; legitimacy was problematic, but not necessarily denied either. Sariss knew this; it was the plan, after all. The plan of her training a force of lightsaber-wielding dark acolytes was her own, however. And why not? With her success here, she'd be able to move from under the thumb of Lady Raze and into the good graces of the Emperor. Why shouldn't she have her own adepts, like Raze did?

The artificial red-head strolled through the immaculate halls of the Cathedral-Ship, hands folded behind her. Her consort, the infatuated young Epicanthix who had murdered his own father (who was Sariss previous consort) and provided her with aforementioned father's wealth to the church. The young olive skinned man was a useful asset, if somewhat filled with youthful naivety. That itself was actually a boon; she filled his mind with faith and infatuation.

Yun followed in step with her, just behind his beloved Prophetess, as she traversed the ship, heading for her private quarters. Clad in the attire of office, she seemed far less the seductress she often was, but the ornate attire served to hide the weaponry on her person as well. The hallways and their odd lightning caused peculiar shadows on the walls. The Cathedral-Ships had numerous stained windows depicting various pseudo-historical tales and images from the holy scriptures.

The Cathedral-Ships had been gutted an repaired, archaic exterior covering a mostly modernized interior. There were issues, of course, as would be expected for any retrofitted vessel, yet it was impressive how many of the large vessels that the Church had been able to produce. Stylistic, they were perhaps not the best choice for combat, but against anything in the rim short of Imperial Expeditionary Forces or Confederate Navy flotillas, they ruled. They served as symbols; several planets had capitulated only by seeing them enter system, and the fold had grown.

Sariss stopped mid stride. Yun regarded her for a moment, confused, and Sariss had to stop herself from scolding him for being so unaware; his powers were strong but untrained, and she had nearly missed it as well. Her hand moved for the lightsaber beneath her robes, and that movement was enough to get Yun to react. He showed his inexperience again as he broadcast his actions, hand falling onto the weapon at his own side.

The source of the Prophetess' peculiar feeling took that as a sign to reveal himself. He seemed to melt outward from the shadows of one alcove, but it took her a moment to realize it wasn't the shadows he was moving from, but the walls themselves. He stepped out form the walls themselves, face blank but eyes filled with intent.

The zabrak, a vicious specimen with white and red markings across his face, ignited a red-bladed lightsaber, the hilt of which was nearly as long as the blade, an ornate thing that seemed almost organic in places and wickedly wrought in others. He wore armor of black iron and leather, with exposed arms of lean muscle looped with bands of matching black metal. An oversized gauntlet, wickedly clawed, ran all the way up his left forearm, all the way to the elbow. His body showed signs of its tampering, head sporting horns of abnormal size that grew to such length they had begun to curl inward.

Yun brought his weapon up into a standard two-handed opening stance and ignited it, the yellow blade contrasting with the red of the interloper. Sariss let her own hand and weapon dangle for a moment, igniting it more slowly, blue blade roaring to life with the tell-tale snap-hiss. The three glowing weapons added yet more abnormal light to the hall, sending the shadows and dancing lights into a frenzy.

"I disappointed," Sariss said after a moment, face creasing as she did. She brought the lightsaber around to her other hand, assuming the low ready in reverse of Yun. "Lady Raze doesn't come herself, but instead sends an acolyte. Does she fear being replaced so much?"

The zabrak thought for a moment, then laughed. Yun's grip tightened as Sariss bristled. "What is so funny, beast?"

"You are mistaken," he said, laughter settling into a savage grin, "You must have made enemies in many places; I serve only Kyrisa, as her servant and mate. She bid me to come, not Lady Raze."

Sariss stared at the zabrak with knew understanding in many vectors. The Prophets of the Dark Side had made sure her studies of the dark side had been extensive, and the methodologies of some of the Nightsister clans on planet Dathomir were well known. This beast was a Nightbrother, a half-breed that existed as servants to the Nightsisters, of whom were chosen as mates and servants.

She also knew that she had never interacted with the Nightsisters, nor had she a desire to; a well-established but decentralized organization, they had been deemed unacceptable for use by Sariss de facto master. The Prophetess forgot that she was not the only asset that the cunning Darth Raze had at her disposal. She had known, but forgot to remember.

The snub was nearly intolerable; not only had she not come herself, she'd not even sent an underling, but rather the _minion _of an underling, some sorcerously-augmented savage. She knew that his form, not particularly muscled, was likely far more dangerous than it appeared; the Nightsisters sorcery augmented the body and heightened savagery. The zabrak stepped forward, spinning his blade backward and then bringing it down in front of him, taking it up with both hands.

"Thresh Despol, son of Dathomir, Nightbrother, mate to Kyrisa," he began to say sweeping his blade into a wide figure eight, "You should feel blessed to match blades with me, for you shall feel the true power of the Dark Side"

"Don't lecture us on the Dark Side, apostate!"

Yun launched forward, swinging his yellow blade in a wide arc. The zabrak rotated and knocked it away with a heavy blow, his own long-handled saber ever in motion. Yun rolled with the deflection, sweeping his blade towards the zabrak's feet. The warrior leaped and delivered an enhanced kick to to the young man's chest, sending him flying back into a bulkhead. Glass windows around it shattered, and in that moment Sariss yet again cursed her inexperienced consort.

Together, they might have had a chance; she was a speaker, and though she carried her lightsaber with skill and pride, against a foe that had been trained extensively in nothing but fighting her odds were nothing. So, she turned to her true weapon.

"What quarrel, then, do we have? You follow your masters orders blind-"

That failed as well, as he seemingly disappeared back into shadows. Her eyes darted around; what trickery could that be? A cloaking device? Yet he masked his presence in the force as well, nearly impossible to sense. The fact the vessel was so impregnated with the power of the dark side did little to ease this.

He grabbed her by the throat most suddenly, lifting her up and letting her feet dangle. The abiliy to manipulate the very darkness; what a grave and terrible power. Suddenly, she felt a sharp pain as a needle shot out from his gauntlet and into her neck.

"What use have you for poisons, beast?"

"None, but I do not question my master. She says to pass a message, and this gift: 'Remember your place.'"

Then he hurled her, and she impacted a spot not far from where Yun lay crumpled. She could feel it racing through her veins, though weakness prevented her from being able to intervene as the liquid death seemingly bonded to her. Yet, she was not dying, that much was certain. No, her fate was worse, much much worse.

Thresh faded back into darkness, and then slipped through the hull. He phased through like a phantom, and them dropped from the floating vessel, landing lightly onto a roof and leaving not a trace behind. Such was his way, such he was trained. The ultimate assassin, a brute capable of being anywhere, at any time. He navigated the streets, invisible to all both in body and spirit. The zabrak retrieved his vessel, a modified R-41 Starchaser, from its hiding place and ascended, his powers seemingly extending to the vessel itself.

Once in space, he navigated to a clear space, heading for the dark side of the moon, where no light touched. As Sariss struggled below, nursing wounds of body and pride, the vessel passed into the darkness, and disappeared from the system entirely.

**Space, Unknown Regions, Unknown System, aboard Imperial I-class star destroyer **_**"Admonitor"**_

At its core, the Outer Line was composed of Thrawn's Hand Strike Group: The Admonitor, a Victory I- and Victory II-class Star Destroyer pair, two Interdictor 418-class heavy cruisers and three Vindicator-class heavy cruisers, with a MedStar-class frigate, an Altor-class replenishment ship, and a Class-7 Repair Vessel. Each of the larger vessels had at least two and sometimes six Tartan-class patrol cruisers for defense, and a pair of Broadside-class cruisers had been attached for extra firepower.

Four wings of fighter craft, 288 craft in total, where spread throughout the fleet, including a full wing on one of the Vindicator-class heavy cruisers that had been equipped as a near dedicated carrier. The fighters ranged from the common TIE/Ln starfighter, the lightly-armed and shielded mainstay of the Empire, to TIE/In interceptors and TIE/Sa bombers.

The strike group even managed to have a squadron of rare TIE/Ad starfighters, the TIE Avenger, that was the descendant of the Emperor's own personal craft. Not only that, the squadron was a Knight squadron, a formation of Imperial Knight pilots as adept at snubfighters as they were at bladework. The entire Hand Strike Group was a formidable force. Yet it was not all that Admiral Thrawn had...

Two additional Victory I-class Star Destroyers, another Interdictor 418, three more Vindicators converted for carrier duty, and a plethora of MedStar and Tartan vessels, more Broadside corvettes, mixed with older frigates, destroyers, and even Clone Wars-era assault ships. This, a line nearly double the size of the Hand Strike Group, with over five-hundred starfighters and over forty-thousand infantry, was the true Outer Line, the personal armada of Admiral Thrawn.

"It's not enough."

Captain Pellaeon did not sigh, as much as he might want to. The long-suffering commander had grown accustomed to Admiral Thrawn's eccentricity, just as he'd grown to trust the blue-skinned genius' tactical acumen. The Captain's close relationship with the Emperor let him request much, though he got only some of it. One of those things had been Pellaeon, and the officer was still unsure if he should be cursing or thanking Thrawn for dragging him to the edges of the galaxy on what often seemed like a wild bantha chase.

Having jumped through an unknown, unlabeled, and unscanned system, the fleet sat motionless in space, interdictors forming a protective mass shadow 'bubble' that prevented any other vessels from being able to jump within a certain distance of the fleet. Lancers and Vigils had spread out into picket lines, but there was no traffic, no true traffic anyway; the system was littered with debris of an unknown source.

Ancient metal, an ancient battlefield. It formed into rings around the primary planet of the system, a blue terrestrial ball; a water world, it seemed. Over seventy percent of the planet was water, with several continents and what seemed to be some sort of low-level civilization. Remnants of an ancient battlefield, perhaps? Interference from the materials seemed to block any attempt to contact the world, a fact that was maybe for the best; the planet was isolated, there seemed little to gain by interfernig, at least not yet.

Besides, there were more pressing concerns, such as the search that had grown to nearly consume the Chiss admiral, who still doubted the success of their mission even with their vast fleet.

The Outer Line was by far the most comprehensive and advanced fleet in the Unknown Regions. The farthest representative of Imperial power, the Outer Line served to protect and expand the growing Hand Combine, a confederacy of powers that served as to provide one of Thrawn's many hats. Officer of the Line, Grand Moff, Imperial Courtier, Emissary to the Unknown Regions, and compatriot of the Emperor in very odd ways.

Pellaeon did not attempt to wrap his head around many of the choices Thrawn made, such as leading them to this unknown location and being very close to the chest about his contact with the Emperor. He claimed to still be in contact, yet their hyperwave transmitters were well out of range. The commander suspected it was the work of Sardoth, an Iktotchi Imperial Knight that had joined them several months ago, bringing along both a Vigil-class corvette that had been equipped with long-range transmitters of its own.

The captain did not understand the force very well; he'd seen the Jedi combat during the Clone Wars, and he'd seen Imperial Knights and other adepts following the rise of the Empire. He'd seen many impressive things; that the alien force-user could perhaps communicate with his liege all the way across the galaxy oddly didn't surprise him.

"Moff, we have yet to face any foe that could match even the Strike Group; we've assembled a massively overwhelming force.

The Chiss Moff simply smiled, "Your confidence is good, but I remind you that I am intimately familiar with the dangers of the Unknown Regions; there is a grave threat to the galaxy rising, and I only hope we are prepared to handle when the time comes."

Pellaeon did not respond. He simply nodded and turned back to the view ports, watching as the Outer Line arrayed itself. He spotted the _Sunderer, _a Victory I-class vessel marked with the dawn symbol of the Sun Guard and frowned; Thrawn hadn't been happy about their arrival. The Chiss was not on good terms with Lady Raze, and the Sun Guard were one of her forces.

The vessel kept a distance from the rest of the fleet, much like the commander had. Pellaeon wasn't even sure what his name was, only his rank of Thychani Dictator; he and the rest of the officers wore armor, even when attending formal functions. Not part of the normal hierarchy, Pellaeon found them hard to work with, and was glad they kept to themselves.

The Sun Guard were just one of many units that were de facto part of the Imperial forces yet outside the traditional Navy or Army. The Stormtrooper Corp he understood, to a degree, and the Imperial Knights weren't much different from the Jedi of old. But the Emperor seemed to have a fondness for autonomous groups that he could have direct control over, circumventing the Senate in the process, and Darth Raze was much the same. The Sun Guard, and its Shadow Guard wing, were just one example of this.

"They have a part to play in this too, captain," Thrawn said, as if reading Pellaeon's mind.

"Yes sir," Pellaeon replied, trying as hard as he could to muster up all the faith he could in the process. Thrawn nodded, and turned away, heading off as he noticed Sardoth enter the bridge. Pellaeon watched for a moment, then turned back around to watch over the formation above the unknown world.

**Space, Rakatan Archipelago, Tulpaa system, ****aboard Procursator-class Star**** Destroyer **_**"Annihilator"**_

The _Annihilator _was locked into geosynchronous orbit around the planet. Along with its twin, the Procursator _Eradicator, _it had been the largest vessel in the difficultly navigated region of space that had been labeled the Rakatan Archipelago by the few who knew of its existence. The Unknown Regions were named as such for a reason, and the Rakatan Archipelago was situated well within its murky borders.

Hard to find, however, was not impossible to find, particularly to those who had the mind to do it. Those greatly attuned to the subtle arts of the galaxy were particularly capable; force-sensitives made fantastic hyperspace explorers, and had for millennia. However, this discovery was made in another way, by a being who was keen to exploit this new power.

In a large antechamber of the _Annihilator_, a meeting was taking place. On one side, a race of tall, amphibian featured aliens with sideways eye-stalks and peculiar attire. Their bearing and appearance was a mix of primitive and advanced, a hodgepodge from their inequitable development. On the other side where cloaked and hooded figures, several of which where mirror images of each other, sparing a slight difference in height; red-cloaked and armored beings with gem-tipped staffs in their left hands.

Both sides had warriors with them, honor guards officially but also protectors; they could feel the power of the Dark Side around them, and they knew better than to trust blindly. It served both sides to work together, for now, but it was unwise to let ones guard down, even in those cases.

"Lady Ruthic is pleased you have returned," said one of the aliens, gesturing to the most finely attired of them. Ruthic was the warrior-priestess of the Tulpaa Tribe, and therefor the head of the Tulpaa Dominion, the largest portion of the Rakatan Archipelago. She was one of a select few of the Rakatan who had managed to cast off their ancient curse. Lightning danced freely at her fingers; her powers were the strongest of all the Rakatan, so much that her body could barely contain it, and visual effects were common.

"My Master has made pact with you; I would be remiss to violate that," the largest of the opposing figures said, tapping his staff against the floor to punctuate the words.

"And you can do all that you have promised?"

The heavy mask and clothing masked the amusement that the towering figure felt at the question; could he do what he'd promised? The greatest master of genetics and alchemy the galaxy had ever known? A genius who had lived for hundreds of years? Exiled, cast out, and over-looked he might have been, but Atha Prime, a genius indeed, was no mere paltry scientist, and he was no mere sorcerer or alchemist. He was a master of his arts.

Could he do what he promised? He drew himself up, preparing his booming, masterful pronouncement.

"I already have."

That got the attention of the leader. Seeped in the Dark Side, the Lady Ruthic swept her arm and sent the speaker flying into a wall. Stepping forward, the dark-skinned Rakata stepped forward. Absently, she curled her hand and crushed the speaker with a flesh of her hands.

With skin darkened to adapted to the volcanic sands of one of Lehon's regions, she had inked white tattoos onto her body; Sith teachings had been influenced by Rakata; even lightsabers traced their origins to the Infinite Empire. Now those influences had come full circle. Atha knew of Ruthic's secret; she'd freed a sorcerer, the court magician of the legendary King Adas of Korriban, an ancient Sith named Raspir.

Atha Prime knew of Ruthic's freeing of Raspir from an ancient Rakatan mind-trap. That magician from the days of old, nearly thirty millennia in fact, had taught her much about manipulating the ancient Ratakan technology, powered by the dark side. It had been him who helped her push through the haze that clouded her race's touch with the force, and it was him who was protected far below in her dark fortress on Tulpaa, in the Obsidian Bastille.

She demonstrated the power he'd helped her grasp, so many thousands of years of denied power by her race had been hers to command, the rage of generations at her fingertips. Even though it danced at her fingers, though, it was something only she and a few of the priests of her people could do, and that was not acceptable. For her plans to continue, for those of Atha's distant patron, the ancient curse of the Rakatan had to be lifted.

"Show me,' she demanded, and Atha just smiled beneath his mask. With a casual flick of the wrist he slid a pair of coverings away, revealing that the floor of the chamber was directly over some sort of large chamber, a test and storage chamber it would seem. The floors were clear, yet apparently one way; the rakatan that paced back and forth, seething with power, seemed unable to see them.

"The subject was taken from the Makatak tribe," he said, purposefully hanging for a moment to allow that statement to sink. The Makatak were the Tulpaa's primary rivals, the only other tribe in the archipelago that had reachieved spaceflight, and without the force as well.

"Requiring specimens to experiment on, I sent several of my corvettes to raid some of the Makatak trade and supply lines. Of the fifty or so first acquired, none survived, yet I was able to get a good handle on Rakatan genetics. The next hundred proved more viable: I managed to keep five alive after several alchemical and retroviral regiments. Only one, however, produced the proper results. We utilized him, however, to isolate the proper genetic structures. Three hundred further test subjects proved positive, with a less than 1% failure rate."

The black-skinned shamaness regarded the towering figure for a moment, eyes twinkling darkly.

"You produced three-hundred force-sensitive Ratakan?" she asked, to which he simply nodded. "Where are they?"

"Disposed of, of course; they were a liability. We retained the original host as well as utilized them to produce further stocks of the retroviral genophage. I have logs for proof, but would rather display first hand."

With another flick of the wrist a second door began to slide, this one in the room below; Atha Prime's vessels had been modified with systems that responded well to his force commands, simple switches in some places, fully integrated crystalline command conversions platforms in others. Thus, with another twitch, motors began to whir and a platform began to rise up, displaying a very angry looking nexu.

"A demonstration," Atha said, smiling. The genetic terrorist folded both hands around his staff as the rakatan watched the spectacle below. The nexu circled warily, while the ratakan had stopped his pacing and simply watched as the beast moved, waiting...

It leaped, razor claws ready. The ratakan sent a stream of lightning from his fingertips into the beasts chest. The creature whined as the blast sent it flying. It twisted, landing on all fours against the chamber walls, and then snarled in anger. Its angry prey, however, did not even realize the danger as a spear of midnight black pierced its skull, skewering it to the wall for a brief moment before it dissipated and the beast fell to the floor in a heap.

"I used genetics primarily from the Monduth and Seylott," Atha Prime said as the forceful ratakan began to tear into the beast with ravenous hunger. "It is stable, though power is varied between individuals, obviously."

"You want the forges, don't you?"

Ruthic had crossed her arms behind her back, frown on her face. Despite the fact that he'd done what she'd asked, Ruthic could not help but feel suddenly very much aware of how much Atha Prime held sway over her entire plan. Moreover, she knew what he wanted.

"Access to them, yes; my Master wishes to see them. We have no need of any you construct."

She bristled for a moment, but understood well enough, even if she knew only brief bits of the power of Atha Prime or his master, or where they got their tech. So long confined, they knew little of the greater galaxy. That, however, would soon change...

"Than access is yours; how soon can you begin distributing the cure?"

Atha Prime smiled behind his mask.

"My dear," he said, turning on his heels and heading for the door, "I began the moment you came aboard."

**Coruscant, Corusca sector, Coruscant System, Emperor's Private Chambers**

Deep in the Imperial Palace, accessible only through the use of the force and seeped in the Dark Side, the Emperor's Private Chambers where as much a tool as they were a refuge. Furnished with artifacts from across space and history, it served as one of the Emperor's most powerful tools. It was here he conducted many of his experiments; it was where he stored holocrons dating back thousands, even tens of thousands of years; and it was where he kept the core of an ancient Sith vessel, a complete meditation sphere. It was there that he had retreated.

Lady Raze had left the planet a day prior, yet the Emperor knew his will was already being enacted; Anakin was no fool. He knew Darth Raze had a great many assets at her finger tips, even beyond the ones he'd granted her. The irony of the Empire was that for all its organization and unity, the Emperor had directly created several autonomous groups outside any chain of authority other than his own, or that of his direct subordinate.

There was a reason for his investment in the Sun Guard, a group completely outside of the Imperial government, more a cult than an army at times. It was a way around the political storm that would exist should he declare the extant, but unfilled, role of Executor filled, a storm not even from the senate, but from his own Vizier and Viceroy. He knew that his word was law, but knew equally well that upsetting two of his closest advisers to empower a third was pointless.

Thus, the Sun Guard had been reborn. Palpatine had sought to destroy them, having seen the end of their usefulness. Anakin had come up with new ones. Where he would not even send Stormtroopers or Imperial Knights, he could send Sun Guard. He dangled bits of Sith lore for their cult activities and lived up to the reality of their prophecy as their Son of Suns. The Saber Guard and Acolytes training regiments had even assisted him in developing that of the Imperial Knights, not that he'd let that be known.

And, of course, if the Sun Guard couldn't handle it, Anakin had other avenues and secrets. Vader had even more of them.

The Emperor was a divided man, not so much at war with himself, but rather simply forced into two separate if usually complementary roles. Complementary at least while separated, of course; each side had its times and places, its roles and duties to fulfill in the face of the grave responsibility that rested on his shoulders. Many times he felt like he was holding up the entire galaxy, and in some ways, he supposed, he was, both of him.

When sitting on the throne and holding court, when addressing the senate (an occurrence thankfully rare), or when he was with his wife or his beloved children, in those places, Anakin Skywalker held sway. A man who had become legend, his exploits and history were known even to all the children in the Core worlds, and even beyond. The Hero Without Fear who had saved the Republic from the Jedi, the Chancellor, and itself.

Surrounded by the evidence of his beneficence, Anakin thrived. Certainly, some freedoms had been reigned in, and certain traditions of the bloated Republic had been abolished, but no longer was the senate simply a circus of pointless arguing. Anakin had broken several stalemates in the senate with his executive powers quite early on, even over minor issues, as a way of making it clear that the old ways were dead.

There was more too: the Imperial Knights were everything the Jedi should have been and more, the worlds of the Empire were safer than ever before, and the grave evil of slavery was being eradicated with swift justice. Sedition was put down with swiftness, employment rates were growing to accommodate the growth of the Imperial military, and though some of the more elegant (and wasteful) aesthetics of the Republic Classic period had been scrapped in favor of more utilitarian designs, technology was advancing quickly.

All of this was, of course, a back drop to the truth of the galaxy: Anakin Skywalker, the Chosen One, was in ascendance. His power was reaching unbelievable levels, fueled by the emotions and passions of his life. Anger and love drove him to new heights. His other side harnessed it all, driving the galaxy towards is necessary place.

Darth Vader, the Dark Lord of the Sith, knelt in meditation. He kept palms flat on his knees, waiting and centering himself inside of the meditation sphere. The lights were low, save for the glow of ancient holocrons and a few muted lambent crystals along the walls, and occasionally by sparking flashes of lightning or pure force energy that bled off the Sith Lord.

He reached outward, touching on the minds of his many acolytes, shifting entire fleets with messages across the vast gulfs of space. Others, those swore to his presence or to the Dark Side he tore information from, rather then waste time on reports or messages and the lies that would inevitably go through them. Vader was powerful, and ruled through that power, through his dominance of the Dark Side. Yet, as Darth Revan had stated thousands of years ago, it was inevitable that the followers of a Dark Lord would attempt to rise up against him.

Vader pushed through the web of information, arcane symbols appearing in the air around him and linking into a network of interconnected truths and conjectures; the force manifested his attempts to track the myriad of threats arrayed against him and the Empire, internal and external. Yet, with simple tweaks, that network was turned into a foundation; he twisted plots to serve him, dispatched forces to strike other rivals, or against the Confederacy, or the Jedi, or distant threats in the Unknown Regions.

He felt an odd glimmer in the blackness beyond the galaxy, two lights near in galactic terms yet removed vastly. They danced and moved, faint at best. How many years would it take before the lights pierced the veil of the galaxy, if they even could? Were they related to the grave threats Moff Thrawn had spoke of? Or perhaps to the dark power he could feel surging in a remote section of the region? Even Panatha was alight with possibilities. The rise of the Vahla was prophesied, after all, even if Vader had tasked Raze with orchestrating it.

Vader let his mind wander again, linking up knowledge, trying to discern the moments of his own apprentice. He could feel her schemes, even if she was strong enough to prevent him from simply ripping the knowledge from her. Certain lights danced around in his mind, bits of knowledge uselessly flitting about in the aether. He reached out for one, seeking to understand the depths she was going to in this round of the Game.

Nearly twenty years, and they still played it, better than ever before. The game between the Master and Apprentice, passive antagonism mixed with mutual friendship. It was a great oddity; Darth Vader considered no one a closer friend, closer in some ways than even his wife or children, than his Apprentice. Yet they were inexorably entangled in a game of brinkmanship and dominance; it was the Sith way for her to seek to replace him.

Sifting through what he could gather, one thing stood out in his mind, the name of a planet. And what a planet for it to be...

Ruusan.

Oh you were a clever one, Raze...

Vader reached out and touched the mind of an agent a half a galaxy away. The agent was sitting and meditating amongst his brethren, but Vader picked this one. He stood, and his brothers said nothing, understanding the call intuitively. Money was already flowing into their coffers, Vader had subsidized them for years, after all.

He suspected this wouldn't do anything but remind Raze that he was watching. Meanwhile, he needed to discover what her plans were. He needed someone who could not be harmed, someone Raze would simply not hurt because she was far too smart to, yet someone who could be legitimately investigating a site as old as that.

Darth Vader knew who to send, though Anakin Skywalker would never allow it. Unfortunately, in this place, Vader was supreme. He reached out through the galaxy again, touching a mind. Even as Vader, a smile grew on his face as he felt the familiarity.

'I have a task for you,' he sent after the greeting. The man on the other side replied immediately.

'I understand, Father. I won't fail.'


End file.
